


Touch Drunk

by cherryade



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied Human Experimentation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryade/pseuds/cherryade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t even think for a second that I will ever give up on you. I’m a trained assassin, not a little kid. If I can’t even get both of us out of this, I deserve whatever messy, sloppy death that is dealt out to me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking of turning this together with It'll Be Okay (Eventually) into a series.
> 
> Hope you like it (:

“Hey, hey, easy, easy.”

Bruce moans as he comes to, head lolling to the side. The world flashes by in too bright colors. The light stabs at his eyeballs. He whimpers and slams his eyes shut.

“Hey Bruce, you with me?”

Bruce huffs. It is too hot yet too cold, the temperatures melding into confusing sensory overload. He cracks his eyelids open. A fuzzy figure stands above him, looming. Bruce flinches back and bites back a scream as his muscles seize up. 

“Bruce?”

A hand threads through his sweat-damp hair and he moans softly, muscles relaxing as he falls limp. He pants quietly through cracked lips, tongue darting out to sweep his bottom lip. The hand retracts and Bruce whimpers at the loss.

“Shh, it’s okay, I gotcha.”

Bruce tosses his head fitfully, squirming. Soft, choked cries rumble in his chest as his senses pulse and his skin takes on a hypersensitive quality. His stomach churns and bitter bile sits at the back of his throat like a lump of lead.

“Here, have some water.”

Cool water drips between his lips and he gulps greedily, his back arching off the soft blanket he is lying on. 

“Easy, don’t drink too fast. You’re going to throw up.”

Bruce listens to the voice. The cadence is light and soothing but Bruce can detect the underlying worry in its timbre. Blindly, he reaches out a hand. Another wraps around his and he sighs. The cool drips of water vanish and the hand returns to gently card through his hair. Bruce sighs.

“Take it easy, SHIELD’s coming.”

Bruce approximates a nod and relaxes into the blankets. He concentrates on the hand that runs through his hair and uses the sensation to ground himself. Slowly, he tries to remember, scenes coming back in flashes of grating color.

“C-Clint?” he stutters through clenched teeth. There is a rustle of clothing and a controlled release of breath as the hand stills.

“Hey there,” Clint says, his voice trembling slightly. Bruce opens his eyes. Clint is staring down at him, eyes bright with concern.

“Y’okay?”

Clint laughs softly before resuming his actions.

“Yeah, I’m fine, big guy. How’re you feeling?”

Bruce squirms a bit and the hand around his tightens. 

“Damned uncomfortable,” Bruce replies. Understatement of the century, but he doesn’t want to worry Clint anymore than he already is. Clint sighs in sympathy, the hand grasping his tightening.

“Wha’ happened?”

“Some idiot scientist decided that it’ll be cool to experiment on the Hulk.”

Bruce snorts, sending waves of discomfort through his body. He clenches his teeth and rides it out.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he murmurs as they die down. Clint grunts, anger flashing across his face.

“It’ll be the last time,” he says with steely resolve. Bruce wants to refute that but he doesn’t.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he says instead. “It was foolish and dangerous. I could’ve hurt you.”

“Shut up,” he snaps. The hand he has in Bruce’s hair stills and Bruce makes a soft noise at the loss of movement. Clint closes his eyes and sighs before resuming his gentle motions. “Don’t even think for a second that I will ever give up on you. I’m a trained assassin, not a little kid. If I can’t even get both of us out of this, I deserve whatever messy, sloppy death that is dealt out to me.”

Bruce growls, a wave of green assaulting his vision. Clint squeezes his hand gently and releases it before cupping his cheek.

“Don’t,” Bruce bites out. “Don’t talk like that.” Clint snorts.

“Sure,” he says easily. “Then you’re not allowed to talk like that either.”

Bruce clenches his teeth and nods his assent. Clint grins and strokes his cheek.

“Go to sleep,” he says. “You need to rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Bruce nods and lets his eyes drift shut. A heavy lethargy has settled in his limbs and he feels weighted down by the very air. Clint’s hand smooths his hair down and he leans into the touch, sighing contentedly, before everything disappears.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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